Searching for the Pieces
by ForeverYoungForeverLostGirls
Summary: Christina-Noun, Human, no background she's willing to give, an imperious attitude, and a serious need to find the pieces of her broken heart. She won't give out anything but her name, and not even the second part of it, but getting into the 'Hattan lodging house is giving her a chance-to fix her past. Rated T just in case of future chapters.
1. First Impressions

You know how J M Barrie said something about the creation of fairies? "When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they wall went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."

A broken heart was much the same. A broken heart, contrary to popular opinion, never broke in half. It shattered, like glass, and all the pieces were spread throughout Time, waiting to be reassembled so that the bearer would be able to love again.

That's why Christina ran away from home. Her life was a mess, but she left mostly because of a broken heart. She was trying to find the pieces.

Naturally, the food she had packed in one large basket ran out, and so did the water. Then the money ran out, and so Christina walked. She walked all the way from where she had used to live, Queens, to Manhattan. It wasn't at all that far, actually, in comparison to some other journeys, but to Christina, who had never left Queens, it was to the other side of the world.

She sat down on a street corner. Christina hadn't eaten for days. She'd lost track of exactly how long, but she knew it had been a long time since she'd eaten.

The thing you have to understand about Christina is that she was a good person. She was good, but she was hard to understand, and she knew it. She sort of expected everyone to understand her, and her expectations always fell short of the outcome. She was very moody sometimes, or silly, or often immature before suddenly switching to being the motherly figure. This didn't make her in any way abnormal or strange. There were many girls like this in New York, but Christina was particularly hard to understand.

She had a secret.

Everyone does, of course, and I'm sure many people have, had, or will have a secret similar to Christina's, but at the time it felt to her as if she was all alone in the world.

But as she was about to find out, she wasn't.

"Miss?" A small shadow, belonging either to a dwarf with the voice of a small child, or to an actual small child, had fallen across the sidewalk in front of her.

Christina looked up. Blocking the light ebbing from the behind the June clouds stood a small boy, nearly ten years old by her estimation. "Yes?" She responded very politely. She was sure she looked very strange, after so long on the streets, but she could be polite anyway. It was in her breeding.

"Buy a pape?" The boy held one out. It appeared to be his last one.

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely apologizing. "I'm afraid I have no money."

"How come?" the hand holding the paper dropped to his side, and the boy looked curious.

Christina remembered a time when she was such an age, and just as curious. It had earned her many punishments, but she was determined that this boy not be punished for his curiosity, especially not with her silence.

"I ran away from home, little boy," Christina said, getting up. "And I'm out of food and money."

The boy looked thoughtful. "Wait here," He ordered imperiously, then added, "Please," And he scurried off around the corner.

Christina watched him go for a moment, before leaning against the building behind her. She was sure she must look a sight, all mangy and dirty, not at all like someone descended from Russian royalty.

"Miss!" The boy was back, running at top speed towards her. Behind him, two tall boys were coming a little less hurriedly towards her.

Christina took an instinctive step back. She needn't have, because these boys were none other than David Jacobs and Jack Kelly, and the boy was Les Jacobs, and they weren't going to hurt her. She, however, didn't know this and so reacted to strangers as would any well-bred girl alone on the streets of New York.

She tried to run.

"Please, lady!" Les stepped in front of her, and Christina was unwilling to shove him to the ground and risk injuring him in her hurry to escape. "We ain't gon' hurt you!"

"Aren't going to," Christina corrected, turning to face the oncoming threat, who had arrived to stand at a safe distance.

"Les says you're a run away." The boy with the bandana said. Christina considered this, then decided that everyone must refer to him as the boy with the bandana or the boy with the cowboy hat. So instead, from the way he carried himself, Christina deduced he must be the older and more mature of these two boys, and so she decided to call him in her mind, the leader.

Christina nodded mutely.

"What from?" the other boy said. He had curly hair and a blue shirt with a brown vest. Christina accurately deduced that he was Les' older brother.

"It isn't any of your business," Christina said primly. "If you'll excuse me," she tried to sidestep Les, but was stopped.

"'E a'so says you'se is outta money," the leader shoved his hands in his pockets.

Christina sighed and turned back to the two older boys. "What do you want?"

"We wanna help," Les piped up. Christina was sure he was lying. It was something she'd grown up knowing. Nobody just wanted to _help_, they all needed something in return.

"Da newsies a'ways helps run'ways an' street brats," Jack shrugged. "Ya wan' da help o' not?"

Christina was confused. Part of her confusion may have been due to the fact that there were too many apostrophes in his sentences, but mostly Christina didn't understand how people who had so much could be so selfish and how street rats, who had so little, could be so selfless.

But Christina shoved this matter to the back of her mind. "Yes, please," she nodded.

"Den, c'mon," the leader beckoned.

"Jack," the other boy put a hand out to stop him. "Can I," he looked at Christina for a moment, who glared back. Then he looked back to Jack, "talk to you for a second?"

As David and Jack moved out of hearing distance, Les tugged on Christina's skirt. "Don't worry," Les told Christina. "Jack'll still take you."

"Take me where?" Christina demanded. She clutched her nearly-empty basket to her chest.

"To the other newsies," Les said matter-of-factly, as if Christina should've known this. "The 'Hattan Lodging House."

"Where's that?"

**So, what I plan on doing is every chapter, is at the end I'll have a question, and you all answer it in a review, then I'll post **_**my**_** answer in the beginning of the next chapter.**

**Example: If you had two hours to kill, what would you do?**

**The format of your answer: If I had two hours to kill, I would . . . .**

**I'll tell you my answer next chapter!**

**Read and review! It makes me happy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.**


	2. At the House

**Previous question: If you had two hours to kill, what would you do?**

**My answer: I would go yell at the United Nations.**

**Thanks to Ealasaid Una and Lucy Conlon for your reviews.**

"'Ey, Kloppman!" Jack raced up the steps to the lodging house, throwing the door open.

Les followed closely as David, shaking his head, walked behind. Christina, however, hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her not to go into this building.

"C'mon," David looked back at her. "It's fine. Kloppman's ancient, but he won't let anything happen to you."

"Surprisingly not reassuring," Christina glared at him, then took a deep breath before heading up the stairs.

Inside was surprisingly clean by Christina's expectations. The floor was worn by hundreds of traipsing feet, but it was clean and polished. One window was cracked, but they were all clean, and most of the wall was plastered with bits and pieces of newspapers. It had a funny sort of homey sense to it, despite the fact that the staircase was missing a step.

"Kloppman, dis is Christina," Jack introduced the girl to a man so old he might have been Christina's great-grandfather. Or at least, he looked like it.

"It's amazing, Jack," Kloppman remarked. His voice sounded like he was happily gargling dust. "Les has been here for thirty seconds and I already know all about this young lady!"

Christina found herself smiling and shaking Kloppman's hand. She liked this man, he seemed a lot like an old gardener she'd once known.

"Nice to meet you, sir," she said politely, but her face was grinning too broadly for mannerisms. David noted this for future reference. It might be handy to know that beneath that lady-like exterior, Christina had feelings.

"So, what, Kloppman, can she stay 'ere?" Jack got straight to the point. "Just 'till she gets back on 'er feet."

David saw a shift in Christina. Her spine straightened perfectly, and her eyes were imperiously cold, somewhat like Spot Conlon's, but chocolate brown. Her fingers clutched the basket to her, and she looked like a queen of New York's underworld, with her dirty dress and dusty hair.

"Oh, I dunno, Jack," Kloppman pointedly didn't look at Christina. "It's boys only, you know."

"How 'bout a private room?" David asked. "There are some upstairs. Or she could have the attic."

Kloppman rubbed the back of his neck. "Jack, I got a budget here. This is the fourth stray you've brought in this month. If they can't pay, I can't house 'em." He looked mournfully at Christina. "M'sorry, miss."

Christina was struck with inspiration. It happened a lot. "Wait," she said quickly as Kloppman turned away. She opened her basket and dug into it frantically. The bag, to all passersby, appeared to be bottomless, as David and Les and Jack heard an endless stream of crackling, rummaging, and shoving aside belongings. Christina then triumphantly drew out a long chain, which ended in a silver pendant.

Jack whistled. "Kloppman, dat'd feed us all for a yeah. Ya gotta let 'er stay!"

"Miss, I can't take this," Kloppman said apologetically as Christina tried to give it to him. "This is worth more than my entire establishment. Don't you have anything else, if you're so desperate to stay here?"

Christina sighed, and looked into her bag once more. "I have the matching earrings," she drew them out, and let Kloppman look at them.

Other boys had poured down the stairs to get a look at the new rich girl come to live with them.

In the end, Kloppman would only accept one earring. It was a paste stone, but the surrounding was silver and was enough to house Christina for a month, if she ate out instead of at the lodging house.

"'Ehy, scummers!" Jack yelled at the growing audience. "Dis 'ere's Christina, she'll be stayin' wid us for a while."

"A goil?" someone muttered.

Jack found the offender and smacked him upside the head. Christina stifled a giggle.  
"Yeah, a goil, stupid, and you'll treat 'er like a lady. Paws off, a'right?"

"If she was a lady," another boy yelled from the back of the crowd, "that's be all the moah reason to put our 'hands _on_." All the boys laughed.

"They don't mean it," David whispered in Christina's ear. He had to nearly bend over to be able to speak into her ear. The fifteen-year-old was an inch shorter than Mush. "They're just immature."

"I'm fine," Christina said firmly, and for a moment David almost believed it, but he was smarter than he looked—and he looked very smart—and he saw through her disguise of cold eyes and straight posture.

"Back off, scumbags, we gotta show 'er to 'er room," Jack waded through the crowd, and Christina followed hesitantly. She caught and held the gazes and stares of many of the newsies, and matched them.

"You're good," Les remarked, unflinchingly watching her make even the most stubborn and mulish of the boys back down. "Most can't even make 'em stuff it."

"Did your mother raise you to be rude about people?" Christina remarked right back, and David had to grin as Les hung his head. "You shouldn't be rude about people, or they'll be rude right back."

"Yes, ma'am," Les bobbed his head obediently, once again daring to look into the chocolate steel that filled her eyes. "Did _your_ mom evah teach you not to be rude to folks? Is that how comes you're so hoity-toity?"

"Les, repeat back to me what I told you," Christian glared at him as she stepped daintily over the missing step.

"You shouldn't be rude to people else they'll be rude to you," Les repeated. Close enough, Christina mused.

"Exactly. Get David to teach you what's rude and what isn't. He seems to know." David squirmed with embarrassment, glad that Christina was in front of him and not looking at him.

Then he became uncomfortably aware that he was eye-level with her bottom, which didn't look at all bad from this angle. He quickly averted his eyes. He resolved to never tell Jack about this.

"Dis is your room," Jack opened the second door on the right down a long hallway. "The boys're right 'cross the hall, so tell me if dey give you'se any trouble."

Christina surveyed her surroundings. Like downstairs, everything was worn but clean. The dresser in the corner had one leg too short for it that had been propped up with a book. She resolved to save the book from its misery as soon as possible. The windows were clean, and uncracked, and she could only find one hole in the tatty brown curtains. The light on the ceiling illuminated all of the room, and the bed was neatly made.

"A'so," Jack added. "Mealtimes're at seven in da mo'nin', an' at nine at night. Kloppman comes ta wake us up round eight am. My advice, wake up oily if ya wanna use da showahs. DEre's a lock, but most o' da boys've got lockpicks."

"How reassuring," Christina muttered too low for him to hear.

"We all gets up ad goes to da washroom, dat's the foist door on the left. A showahs're on the left. Da watah's hottest in da mo'nin', an' if you ain't awake by nine, Kloppman'll send the kids to wake y'up, since he's got da on'y uddah key." He tossed Christina an old key on a string. "YA lose it, you get to replace it. Any questions?"

"Yes," Christina sat on the bed, and set her basket down. "If I choose not to eat here, where do I go? And what about the other private rooms, who's in there? And if the boys can pick locks, won't they get into my room? Are there any other girls besides me? And how can I earn money? Can I be a newsie?"

"Slow down, slow down, your highness," Jack grinned and held up his hands. "Most o' us eat at Tibby's, 'cause deir food is good and cheap. I'll take ya t'morrow. Nobody else's got a private room 'cept Bluejay. 'E keeps t'imself mostly, an' 'e don' talk much. You'll know 'im when you see 'im." Jack took a deep breath.

"What was d'uddah question? Oh, right. Da boys wouldn't dare pick da lock on a lady's room. Kloppman'd murder 'em an' let me 'ave the pieces to bury discreetly." He flashed Christina a broad grin. "You're safe. Oh, an' no uddag girls 'cept you, unless one o' da newbies's got a secret. Den we'se is in trouble."

"Why?" Christina sat primly, with her back straight and her hands in her lap. She looked like a little old lady in a young girl's body, but her eyes were brimming with curiosity, the only thing convincing the boys that the soul inside her body was a young one.

"'Cause Kloppman'd kick 'em out," Jack shrugged. "'E don't let goils in widout 'is permission. You'se is da foist in a while, evah since we kicked out anuddah goil who was pretendin' ta be a boy. If that's it then, . . ."

"You didn't answer my other questions," Christina said icily. She knew it was on purpose that he hadn't answered these questions. He'd set the bait to lead her off-track, but she was determined to get answers. "How can I earn money? Can I be a newsie?"

Jack grinned. "You're kiddin' me, right? Goils can't be newsies. Kloppman'll hire ya, an' 'e might give ya free meals in exchange. Or you can get a job workin' somewheres." He snorted and murmured to himself. "Newsie."

"Jack," David looked to his friend in a way that was becoming rapidly familiar to Christina.

Jack sighed. "Fine. It's 'cause o' da scabs. The rich kids who wanna be newsies foah da kick of it. Dere'll be trouble if they find out you'se is heah, but you might be safe if you ain't a newsie."

Christina sighed. "Fine," she said, giving in. "I'll talk to Kloppman tomorrow. You all get up at eight-ish, right?"

Jack nodded. "But Bluejay's a-ways up befoah us, so careful 'bout dat."

David sighed as Jack left the room, with Les hot on his heels. "Sorry about him," He apologized. "He thinks the only way to do things is his way."

Christina began unpacking her basket. "It's fine," she said, her face a pale, white mask. "It doesn't bother me. He's right, it's my place working somewhere else. It's fine," she repeated.

David ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes moved uncomfortably around the room, like he wasn't sure what to say. His eyes went to the book holding the dresser steady. He went over and took it out, leaving the dresser at a tilt.

"Sorry," he apologized. Christina realized he hadn't done much but apologize since she'd first met him. "It's just, I don't like books to be used other than reading."

Christina smiled. "Me neither," she pulled out three books from her basket, and David wondered if her bag contained another world where she kept all of these useful things. "I brought these with me when I ran away." David left the rescued book atop the tilted dresser to go look at the ones she held.

_Peter Pan_, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_, and _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_. David took them into his hands, and Christina smiled slightly. If David's attention hadn't been focused on the beautifully bound books in his hands, he might have seen how beautiful she was when she was genuinely pleased, and how happy she looked to have found someone who shared her interest in literature.

"I've read these two," David murmured, and Christina could hardly hear him. "But I've never read _Dorian Gray_."

"Me neither," Christina smiled. "I actually haven't read any of them, that's why I brought them. I love to reread books, but I like new ones better."

David mutely nodded in agreement. "I hate to ask this," he said, his attention focused entirely on the book. "But could I borrow this book? I'd bring it back as soon as I'm done, and I'd treat it like my own child."

Christina laughed, and for a moment David _did_ see her mirth and beauty, and he had to smile. "Of course you can borrow it," Christina crossed her arms mischievously and the old lady disappeared, replaced by an impish fifteen-year-old instead. "But you'll have to give me something in return, so I know you'll bring it back."

"Like what?" David asked, slightly guarded. He hadn't met a lot of girls, and certainly never one like Christina, so he wasn't sure if this was normal or not. It wasn't, of course, but neither of them knew this.

"I want you to come back tomorrow," Christina smiled, and her guise was merrier this time. "And bring back your favorite book in the world, the one book you couldn't live without. If I've read it, I'll read it again, and if I haven't, I'll read it anyway. You get is back as soon as you return mine."

"It's a deal," David said instantly. He had no doubt that a girl who looked at her books with such obvious pleasure would treat his favorite novel with the utmost care. He handed _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ back to her, and stuck out a hand.

Christina shook it, and smiled. "Until tomorrow, then," She said, placing the three books on the nightstand.

David grinned as he left the room and closed the door. He was getting his hopes up, even though he didn't know it. He wasn't very experienced with girls, but he was _sure_ she'd been flirting. He would ask Sarah.

Christina, however, hadn't been flirting at all. It was because of her secret, but she'd forgotten about that for a moment, because it was in that one second where she'd seen the way he looked at her books—with the utmost reverence and awe—that she'd found the first piece of her heart.

**So? Read and review and tell me about your opinions on anything. My characters, my writing style, my plot, anything. Just don't ask about her big secret, because I ain't gon' tell you.**

**So, question of the chapter: If you could be invisible for one day, what would you do?**

**Format of response: If I could be invisible for one day, I would . . .**

**Reviews make me happy, so plz plz plz answer, and I will try to update regularly. I will, however, be leaving for France soon, so my updates will be very **_**in**_**frequent unless I can get to WiFi.**

**I know last chapter was kinda short, but it was three pages on Word. This one was five pages, so hopefully it's longer.**

**Luv u all, all my fellow fansies—even if u hate my fanfic.**


	3. In the Morning

**My answer to the previous chapter question: If I could be invisible for one day, I would sneak into Barnes & Nobles and read myself to death. Then take whatever books I wanted, and let everyone marvel at the floating books. I'd pay for them, of course. Of course.**

**Disclaimer: I, disappointingly enough, do not own Newsies nor shall I ever unless I grow up to be a billionaire in which case I will buy the owners out.**

**Thanks to Ealasaid Una, TotallyAwesome, and To bE mY HEaRt for reviewing.**

**This chapter is like, eight-point-something on Word, so hopefully its longer than the first and second. Hope u enjoy!**

Reflexively, Christina woke up early in the morning. She wasn't sure at first what time it was, because her room did not possess a clock, but one look at the watch hidden in her basket and she knew it was six. Good, she mused. Enough time to shower.

She sat up and realized with horror that she had fallen asleep unpacking. Her hair was a mess and her dress was wrinkled. The things she'd left on her bed had fallen on either side, and Christina took a good five to ten minutes to pick them all up. She then got up, and turned on the light, and went back to picking up the things she hadn't seen under and around the bed.

Her mother would've been ashamed of her, doing something as unladylike as falling asleep in her clothes, but mostly Christina was only horrified and surprised that she had been able to sleep with her corset on.

So Christina went to the dresser, which—she had discovered the night before—held all the things necessary for a young lady. And it made her wonder who had had this room before her, and why the newsies and/or Kloppman hadn't bothered to take all these things out.

Christina withdrew a few items; a large towel, a small bottle of shampoo, a hand mirror, and small box that held a piece of soap. Christina placed these things on top of the tilted dresser and stripped down, removing her corset with a relieved sigh. She marveled at how she had spent the night in such uncomfortable shoes, and she sighed again at the condition of her petticoats and the hem of her dress.

Wrapper herself in the large towel, Christina grabbed her things and unlocked the door, opening it slightly first to see that there were no boys in the hallway. With the coast clear, Christina crept to the door next to hers, and opened it.

She found a boy with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, looking at himself in the mirror. He whirled upon hearing the door open, and Christina accurately assumed that this must be Bluejay.

"Um, hello," she said nervously, clutching her towel closer around her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone else in here. I'll just, . ." she trailed off, and began to leave.

"It's okay," the newsie's voice might've belonged to a girl or a boy, and if Christina hadn't been looking at him with his short, spiky hair and sharp, angular face, she might've mistake him for one. "I was just leaving."

"You're Bluejay, aren't you?" Christina ventured to say. When the boy hesitantly nodded, she extended a hand from under the towel. "I'm Christina. I'm new."

The boy mutely withdrew a hand from under his own towel, and shook hers. His hand was warm from the steam of the showers, but already dry.

"You isn't a newsie, right?" the boy didn't speak with an accent, he just had bad grammar. "I heard you 'rrive yesterday. But I didn't know you was a girl." His eyes roamed, looking her over. They didn't linger in any particular place, but still Christina shivered. She understood the source of his name—his eyes were blue as a bluejay's feathers.

"I'm not a newsie, no," Christina said bitterly. "Girls apparently can't be bitter." For a moment, she forgot to be an old lady, and the bitter fifteen-year-old surfaced. Then the old lady was back.

"You shouldn't listen t'Jack," Bluejay shrugged, making his way past her and into the hallway. "Nice meetin' you, miss."

Once he was gone, Christina shut the door and locked it. She took a shower quicker than she ever had in her life, intensely paranoid that a boy might walk in any second now. She realized she was being stupid, but it didn't stop her insecurity.

Christina quickly hurried back to her room, and in her hurry she left wet footprints on the wooden floor. She locked the door, and looked into the hand mirror.

She smiled slightly. She didn't look anything like the girl she'd been when she'd run away. No face plastered with make-up, or a basket hurriedly packed with things she wouldn't need. No fancy dress or pinching shoes—well, not _too_ pinching anyway—and no tears on her face.

Christina couldn't find a way to get her corset on. She put on her underdress and her petticoats and her brassiere, but she couldn't get her corset on. So she just pulled a spare dress out of her basket and put it on. She figured it wouldn't hurt to go one day without a corset.

It was seven thirty by the time Christina was ready and dressed, hair combed, shoes pinching, filthy petticoats, and fresh new dress. She made her way downstairs, where Kloppman was already at the desk. He looked up, surprised to see Christina, and then his surprised turned to glee.

"I always figured you for an early bird, my dear," he said, putting down the pen he'd been using to write something down in the thick book before him. "What can I help you with?"

"I was wondering if you'd consider hiring me, at least part time," Christina said. When she saw the hesitation, she hurriedly added, "You wouldn't have to pay me or anything, I just want to have something to fill my time, since the boys say I can't be a newsie. I know it must be a pain to clean up after those boys all the time, so I want to do it for you."

Kloppman smiled. "I'll make you a deal, Miss Christina. If you would help out around here, making beds and sweeping floors and such, free of charge, I'll let you have a job at the desk in the afternoons. The government, the branch that pays for the lodging houses, pays for secretaries, not me, so you'll be fine. And I'll throw in a free breakfast any time you like. Do we have a deal?"

Christina considered it. It was certainly a generous offer. "Alright," she conceded, "But I would like one thing. I'd like to be able to wake up the boys today."

Kloppman chuckled. "Alright. In fact, you can wake them up any time you like, they're pains in the morning anyway." He extended a wrinkled hand. "Do we have a deal?" he repeated.

Christina smiled—no, she grinned, and Kloppman marveled at her beauty. It wasn't just how pretty she was when she was genuinely happy, it was how she absolutely oozed it with every smile. It made him feel giddy, like he wanted to go out and sell papes himself, as he did when he was young.

Christina shook the old man's hand. "We have a deal."

"Now go wake up those boys!" Kloppman chortled as Christina hurried up the stairs, jumping over the missing step. "Those boys are in for a big surprise." He chuckled to himself.

Christina took a moment outside of the boys' dormitory to compose herself. She wasn't at all sure what she would find, but she was confident that Kloppman wouldn't have let her do this if there was anything she wasn't supposed to, or wasn't going to want to, see. So she smoothed back her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The snoring almost overwhelmed her. The room screamed, _Let us sleep!_, and all the boys looked as tired as if they'd discovered Atlantis the day before.

Christina randomly chose a bunk, seeing as how she could identify only a few of the unconscious bodies in them, and she peered at the boy sleeping there. It was a top bunk, so she had to stand on her tip-toes, and brace her feet against the lower bunk.

The bunk belonged to Racetrack Higgins, but Christina didn't know that. She only knew that she didn't know this Italian that had fallen asleep with a cigar in his mouth. So, she figured, there couldn't be much harm in what she planned on doing.

She placed her face as close as she could to his—still a few inches from it—and screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Racetrack sat up, and nearly swallowed his cigar. Christina could've died laughing as she slipped from the bunk below her and nearly fell to the floor. "Jeez, lady, ya coulda moidered me!"

The scream had had a similar effect on most of the other boys, except those who slept like the dead. Many of the older boys in bottom bunks were rubbing their foreheads. All those awake were grumbling.

"Wake up!" Christina yelled. "Rise and shine, boys, it's a beautiful day and you're not going to miss it!"

"Jesus Christ," Racetrack mumbled, shoving his face into his pillow. "Kloppman got to you a'ready."

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Christina walked through the bunkroom, passing bunk by bunk. She stopped at Jack Kelly's bunk. "Oh great and powerful leader, get your _bum_ out of _bed_!"

"Do you drink the mornings?" Jack mumbled, finding this the only reason any sane person would be up before nine.

"Not a drop," Christina shoved him. "Get _up_, damnit."

"Foah such a beautiful lady, ya shoah got a bad mouth," Racetrack growled, tumbling out of bed. "Hey, you single?"

Christina shoved him, and moved on to the next bunk. "Boots, rise and shine! Time to get up!" Most of the boys introduced themselves to her as she passed, except for the walking dead.

"Tumbler," She'd learned the boy's name from Les, who babbled about anything and everything on their way to the lodging house. "Time to get up, kid."

"No, Mum, five moah minutes," He muttered. Christina shook him, and threw his blanket across the room, and his pillow to the other side of the room.

"Sorry, Tumbler, but now you have to go get them," she said when Tumbler protested. He slithered out of bed, and crawled towards his blanket.

"'Ey, I didn' know we got ou'selves a new muddah," Mush remarked as he passed Jack.

"Neidah did I," Jack was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "If I'da known, I'da navah let 'er stay here."

"Suck it up, Kelly," Blink flicked a towel at him as he passed. "Maybe a new muddah'll getcha outta bed fastah." And all the boys snickered.

"Are you boys done loitering about?" Christina had all her imperiousness on today, the boys noted, and they quickly scurried away, vanishing into the washroom.

"She'd make a good match for Conlon," Racetrack was trying to part his hair the other way today, but his hair was resisting. "If 'e didn't kill 'er for bein' too much like 'im."

They were downstairs fifteen minutes earlier than normal, and so had to wait an extra fifteen minutes before they were allowed out, which allotted Kloppman more time to take a headcount, which made him happy. The newsies, however, were less than pleased.

"'Ey look, Bluejay's down!" Dutchy yelled, and all eyes went to the staircase, where the fifteen-year-old newsboy was jumping over the missing step.

All the bosys yelled out greetings and snide remarks and sarcasm, and Bluejay only nodded. He went over to a corner, where he sat down until everyone had forgotten about him, which didn't take long.

"'Ey, Lady," Racetrack came over to Christina, who was being instructed by Kloppman in what he needed done that afternoon. "We was wonderin' how comes you're heah." He took a puff from his cigar. "See, we don' get too many goils round dese parts, an' we was wonderin' who we've got in the room 'cross the hall."

"My _name_," 'Lady' said crossly, "Is Christina. Not Lady, or Miss, or even Mother. And I am here for the same reason many of you are here—nowhere else to go. Now, if you'll excuse me." She vanished to the back room, where Kloppman had told her all the writing utensils and records were.

The old man chuckled. "I like 'er," he said. "She makes this old place seem like a real home."

"Yeah," Racetrack took a drag from his cigar. "A pincushion an' a muddah all rolled into one. What else could a guy ask foah?" But he was smirking.

Bluejay appeared at his elbow, so that when Race turned, he jumped and the cigar went flying. He retrieved it in time to glare at the boy. "Jeez, scare the life outta me, why dontcha?"

Bluejay shrugged. "I try," he looked at Kloppman. "Can I have an aspirin, my head's driving me nuts."

Kloppman nodded, retrieving a box from under the counter. Bluejay handed over a penny, and swallowed the pill whole.

"See, a real man'd just woik through it," Race said, bitterly gnawing the cigar.

"Did poor ittle bittle Racetrack wake up when Mother screamed?" Bluejay made an over-exaggerated face of sympathy at the Italian. "Poor Racey, maybe you oughtta get an aspirin, too." Bluejay vanished into his corner before Race could react.

"What's 'is problem?" Race muttered, apparently directing this question towards Kloppman. "PMS or somefin?"

"That's just how he is, Race," Kloppman said, though he knew the question was rhetorical, "And I suspect that wherever he goes every evening has something to do with it."

If Christina or David had been there, they would've noticed the subtle way Kloppman's eyes flicked towards the counter, and seen that Kloppman was lying. He knew something. But, of course, they weren't and so Kloppman got away with his lie. Nobody else was skilled enough to notice the old man's lie.

The hands on the clock about Kloppman's head ticked into place. Nine on the dot, and the boys cheered. As always, they hurried out the door, and only Bluejay bothered to say good-bye to the old man.

"You know," Kloppman said when Christina appeared at his side once all the boys were gone. "If they call you Lady or Miss or Mother, it isn't anything to be ashamed of. They could use a lady round here, to straighten 'em up."

Christina smiled, and any boy might've seen how unreserved she was with the old man. It was good, because anyone else might've suffered a smack upside the head from Christina's awkward embarrassment. She wasn't quite sure why she was embarrassed—maybe it sounded too much like praise. She wasn't at all sure why, but she wasn't comfortable with praise. Was anyone really?

She bet Dorian Gray was.

"Christina?" a slightly familiar voice came from the door. David had arrived.

Christina smiled at the book in his hand. "What did you bring?" She asked, leading him upstairs. "Anything good?" she joked.

"My favorite book, as requested." David held it out as she drew _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ out from under her bed. It was a book of poems, a collection, by Lewis Carroll.

Christina for a moment forgot the way she was raised and shoved _Dorian Gray_ at David unceremoniously. She collapsed on the bed with the book in hand, and opened it immediately.

She didn't know how to thank David. She tried again and again, but she didn't know how, and for David that was alright. He didn't know how to thank her for _Dorian Gray_ either. They parted awkwardly, each thoroughly absorbed in their new books, and promising to return them as soon as they were done.

David might have had all day to read, but Christina didn't. She wasn't very good at all the things Kloppman set her to do in the few hours until one o'clock, but she did her best and was mostly successful. She made all the beds in the boys' bunk room, and she swept the floor and washed the windows. She picked up everything the boys had dropped, and threw them on their respective owners' bunks.

At one, the lodging house was cleaner than it had ever been, and Kloppman was similarly happy. He deducted a bit of money from what Christina would be paid for her afternoon's work, and gave it to her for lunch.

Christina, with directions to Tibby's in her head and with a basket in her hand, set off. It was a beautiful day, and she pulled the book of poems from the basket and read as she walked.

'_Twas brillig and the slithy toves,_

_Did gyre and gimble in the wabe_

_All mimsy were the borogroves,_

_And the mome raths outgrabe_

Christina had always liked Lewis Carroll. She also liked J. M. Barrie and Oscar Wilde and Jules Verne, but Christina felt that Lewis Carroll was one of those special people, who had stayed children inside as they aged.

It was only a shame that she had never read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. She'd never had access to a copy. Perhaps she could find a library somewhere around here . . .

Before she knew it, she'd gone through several great poems and she had arrived at Tibby's. All the boys yelled greetings as she entered.

Christina, however, was faced with a dilemma. She had no idea where to sit. If you are an outgoing type of person, you might not have been bothered by this. But Christina, however outgoing she was, was feeling very shy with so many eyes on her. She knew she ought to march to some deserted table and sit down, but contrariwise maybe she should sit with someone she knew. Les and David, maybe?

Out of the corner of her eye, Christina spotted Bluejay quietly eating his food in a booth made for two or three people. A book was on his lap.

Christina grinned broadly, and sat down across from him. Most of the newsies returned to their conversations, but others kept watching. Christina ignored them.

Bluejay, however, couldn't.

"What're you doing?" He hissed. "You wanna ruin my reputation and yours, lady?"

"My _name_," She said firmly. "Is Christina. The least you could do is come up with a decent nickname. Lady is the most common thing you could call a girl, and I will _not_ be generic."

Bluejay glared at her. "You're makin' a mistake. You sit with me, you'll never be treated the same way again."

Christina shrugged and looked at him angrily. "That is _my_ business, Bluejay, not yours." When the waiter came over, she asked for a sandwich and some soda. Until then, she opened her book.

_. . .He left it dead and with its head_

_He went galumphing back._

**Gotta love Lewis Carroll.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies, Lewis Carroll, Jules Verne, J. M. Barrie, Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Jabberwocky, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, or Through the Looking Glass. All of the books mentioned in this fanfic were, however, available and read and usually popular during this time.**

**Chapter Question: If you could only read one book for the rest of your life, what would it be?**

**I'll tell you my answer next chapter.**

**Give me your answer in a review. And if not, just review my story. IT MAKES ME HAPPY!**

**And you do NOT want me to write a fanfiction angry or sad.**

**Luv u!**


	4. Secrets

**Previous chapter question answer: If I could only read one book for the rest of my life, it would be **_**Alice's Adventures in Wonderland**_**.**

**Thanks to To bE mY HEaRt for reviewing. I love Bluejay, too. Also, thanks to Ealasaid Una for the same reason. And I distinctly remember referring to Bluejay as 'he.'**

**READ AND REVIEW PLZ!**

Christina had never liked the afternoons. She didn't like mornings either, but there was something in particular about afternoons that drove her to distractions.

Part of it, of course, was the heat. It was absolutely boiling in the lodging house. Kloppman had escaped to go run some errands, and had left Christina to her afternoon job, running the desk work. If anyone came in who didn't belong, Christina was to interrogate them thoroughly.

Christina had never done anything like this before, but she could read and write and had a good memory for faces and names, and that was all Kloppman needed to give her the job.

So Christina was doomed this particular afternoon, her first afternoon on the job, to sit at a desk and do nothing. Later there would be other things to do, but this particular day there was nothing. So Christina could only sit, and read her book, and fan herself occasionally with the cover, and drink water.

The door opened. Desperate for a bit of entertainment, Christina allowed herself to look up. It was just Bluejay, back early. Christina's eyes flicked to the clock (five thirty) and then back to her book.

"You ain't like other girls," Christina looked up. Bluejay had sat down on the stairs, just below the missing step. Christina's voice took on an instant sarcastic tone.

"Pray, tell me why not." She demanded, staring at him angrily. "Am I too sarcastic? Or perhaps my love of intellectual pursuits is unbecoming in a lady? Pray, tell me _why_ exactly I am not like other girls."

Bluejay shrugged, nonplussed. "Ain't never had a girl sit with me. Most'd run 'way screaming."

Christina blushed. She wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't exactly a compliment, after all, but maybe she just felt stupid about yelling at him. It was the heat getting to her.

"Why do most run away screaming?" Christina asked, closing her book quietly. She didn't want him to think that he was more important than her book. But it would be rude to keep it open while he was talking, so she just settled for closing it near-silently.

Bluejay shrugged. Again. "I ain't exactly the most popular guy of all, am I? Most girls'd head for Cowboy or the Mouth."

"The Mouth?"

"David," Christina nodded in understanding. "You, though, didn't care."

"Well, I didn't know where to sit," Christina said, as if that explained everything. "And everything was sort of confusing, with everyone staring at me."

"Stupid girl, _everyone_ stares at you." Bluejay rolled his eyes.

Christina should've said something. The lady inside her knew he was bordering on insubordination, and that this was improper. But she'd decided to leave that person behind when she ran away. She just hadn't been doing a very good job of that. "Really?" Was all she could get out. She couldn't believe that everyone stared at her. She couldn't. It wasn't like she was anything special. Not even particularly pretty.

"You kiddin' me?" Bluejay looked at her and shook his head like she was the stupidest girl on earth. She wasn't, of course, but Christina felt that way at the moment. "'Sides the fact that we get maybe a girl a year around these parts, _you_ make every newsie in this lodging house feel like a complete idiot."

Christina decided she didn't want to know. Which was good, because Bluejay didn't stop for her to ask, he just ploughed on.

"All the boys are abs'lutely dumbfounded by you, an' no one knows how to treat you. The Mouth's half in love with you a'ready, an' half the boys wish they were. Racetrack goes through girls like newsies go through papes, but he ain't never met a girl Spot Conlon's equal."

"Ain't never is a double negative," Christina murmured, but was ignored.

"You're short as Mush, shorter even, but you talk like the Queen of England and act like Pulitzer 'imself. You ain't even got a big chest an' all the boys can't take their eyes off you. You _read_ for cryin' out loud."

"What's wrong with reading?" Christina's eyes flashed. Her fingers twitched, like she wanted to slap Bluejay.

"I ain't never met a girl who liked to read before," Bluejay shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal. It was, but he didn't see it that way.

"Double negative," Christina muttered, but blushed. "Well, I don't see why more girls don't like to read. I'm nearly through with this book already, and it's fantastic."

"Most of the boys can't read," Bluejay informed her. "Just a bit, to sell the headlines. Cowboy's girl's been teaching 'im, but nobody else can read well enough to go through a whole book."

"Why not?" Christina asked. "Everyone should know how to read." It was something she firmly believed. She believed in this principle more than devout Christians believed in God, and that was alright, because Christina didn't particularly believe in God. She didn't like the thought of an invisible man in the sky watching her.

"Well, most ain't ever been to school." Bluejay stood. "If you'll 'scuse me, Alice, I'll be going." HE turned to walk up the stairs.

"Alice? . . . Bluejay!" Christina ran out from behind the desk to stop at the bottom of the stairs. Bluejay was halfway up already. "Why did you call me Alice?"

Bluejay turned. "Way you move around . . . like Alice in Wonderland, waiting for the next insane thing to show up."

This made Christina smile, though she'd never read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. Satisfied that he'd made her smile, Bluejay turned.

"Wait!" Bluejay turned back with a slightly irritated gait. Christina asked, "Can _you_ read, Bluejay?"

He shook his head, and was gone.

Slightly confused, and working on a plan inside her head, Christina returned to her place at the desk, but couldn't return to reading. Oh, well. She was almost done, anyway.

Thinking furiously, and muttering under her breath, she disappeared into the back room and emerged with a paper and pen. She opened Kloppman's thick record book, and looked to the list of lodgers, and wrote them down on the paper.

When the next boy, Mush, walked into the lodging house, Christina asked if he could read. He shook his head. He could only understand a few words.

As every boy entered the lodging house, Christina asked them if they could read. One by one, they then vanished upstairs, or loitered on the staircase, or talked in doorways.

As the last boy entered, Christina stopped him. It was the kid, Tumbler, and Christina asked him if he could read or write.

"No, ma'am," He shook his head. "Do you?"

Christina smiled. "Tumbler, would you like me to teach you how to read? You could read the headlines."

Tumbler grinned, and nodded. Then he vanished to tell his friends the news. He was going to learn to read.

Kloppman returned around six thirty, and relieved Christina of duty. She then hiked up her skirts and marched into the boys' bunkroom.

She saw utter chaos. Poker games and alcohol, a game of tag and a yelling match, Racetrack and Blink making out with girls, a girl sitting on Cowboy's lap as they played poker, David sitting on a bunk reading, Les sword-fighting with Tumbler, Racetrack's cigar smoldering on top of a pile of newspapers. The whole room smelled of sweat and alcohol and cheap perfume from three girls flirting with various newsies. Not to mention the two who were sucking face with Racetrack and Blink.

Christina was a very brash girl. She sometimes did things without thinking, things she might regret later. This, however, was not one of those times.

She left Racetrack and Blink sucking face with their respective partners, and stopped Les and Tumbler from knocking over a huge pile of worthless junk. She met the girl on Cowboy's lap, Sarah Jacobs, and shook hands politely although Christina personally didn't like her already.

But Christina couldn't find Bluejay. She was looking for him, of course, to propose that she teach the boys to read and write, but she couldn't find him. Of course, she _would_ find him when not expected, but lose him when she wanted to talk to him.

So Christina simply took Tumbler aside, and gave him his first reading lesson.

That night, when she couldn't fall asleep—she had already taken off her corset and brushed her teeth and had some warm milk, so there was nothing else she could do—she decided what she wanted to do when she grew up. She wanted to create a school for kids like the newsies.

When she finally fell asleep, it was somewhere around ten thirty and she began to dream of the school she wanted to run someday.

The next few days took on a schedule. Every morning she got up early, and every day she couldn´t get her corset on by herself. So she didn't wear it. She woke the boys up, and got a glass of milk from the kitchen, and while they waited for the clock to strike, Christina would give Tumbler a bit of a lesson in reading. Then Christina would work until one, and go for lunch at Tibby's. She still sat with Bluejay, though he still tried to dissuade her from it, and neither of them said anything to each other. And she returned the book of poems to David. She'd finished reading _Peter Pan_ and was starting on _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_.

And in the evenings, when they were all back, Christina sat down with Tumbler and some of the other boys, and she and Racetrack taught them to read. Racetrack had decided he liked Christina, although his incessant flirting drove her to distraction.

Life was good for Christina, and she felt another piece of her heart fall into place when she taught the boys to read and write. Her heart was healing, and she could feel the slits in her past sealing up with it.

Christina knew now that that was a reason she'd run away. She wanted to fix her past, to make it better. She hadn't like any of the things she'd been before running away, and she didn't like to think about it, but she wanted to fix it. So she did, little by little.

Until the Friday after she'd joined the newsies. Kloppman had given her the day off, so she was doing some shopping with her wages.

She was walking through the streets, bags in each hand. She'd bought another dress, and some other clothes, as well as a ribbon for her hair and a new pair of shoes. And a hat, because the sun was uncomfortably warm.

"Christina!" David was running towards her, then, with a strange expression on his face, that Christina couldn't name. This was unusual, because Christina was normally good at reading people, except Race, because he'd perfected his poker face long ago.

Christina pretended not to notice. She smiled politely. "Did you finish my book?" She asked instead.

Wordlessly, David handed her a newspaper, and Christina finally recognized the emotion in his face, as much as he tried to hide it. It was suspicion.

**MILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER MISSING!** And next to the headline was a blurry picture that was taken several years before. It wasn't obviously Christina, as her hair was shorter and her eyes covered by a hat and there was too much lace on the dress, but David could see the resemblance.

Christina felt her heart pounding in the back of her throat. She could hear it ringing in her ears. She read the article so she wouldn't have to look up at David. Yet.

**Felicity Christina Moore, the daughter of the American millionaire William Moore and the granddaughter of a Russian millionaire, vanished from her father's mansion in Queens on Monday evening. Moore refuses to comment, save to say that "Felicity has always been very rebellious, but running away isn't her style." Her mother, in tears, told the New York Journal that her daughter is fifteen years old, with long blonde hair, and was last seen in a long white dress. "She was so beautiful that night, it was her engagement ball, and it was a surprise, and the way her face dropped so when I told her about the ball . . . ! She was utterly horrified, but not enough to run away!"**

**The police have been investigating the matter thoroughly. Blood has been found in her room, as well as an open window and signs of missing belongings, but there was no sign of a struggle. Foul play is suspected, as strips of the white dress were also found in her room. Felicity's fiancé, a Mr. William King, says that she vanished after a row with her father and mother about someone called Emily. Her parents denied this and refused to share information about this Emily, who couldn't be found and so wasn't available for interview.**

**A kitchen maid reported food missing from the kitchen and pantry, where more blood was found. Felicity's maid gave the New York Journal an vigorous description of her missing mistress, adding, "Miss Felicity was upset about something, and she told me to leave her. She was crying into her pillow about someone called Emily. She was crying like she'd lost her best friend. She told me, 'Leave me alone, Milly, I want to be alone.' So I left. I went back in to draw her bath later, and she was pale as the dead, and she told me, 'Milly, I want to die.' Those were her exact words, sir. She said she wanted to die. Well, I told her that was nonsense and I got her bath ready. She went to bed early that night, I saw her get into bed and I locked the windows myself. She didn't even bother taking that pretty white dress off, and in the state she was in I didn't want to make her. And the next morning the windows were open and she was gone and there was blood on the floor and in the bed and strips of that pretty dress everywhere."**

**The dress she was last seen in has been located in a shop near the Queens-Manhattan border. The owner says he bought it from a young boy who said his sister was getting married, but died. He admits this boy might have been Felicity in disguise.**

**The Moore family is offering a reward of a hundred dollars for any information pertaining to her location, and two hundred dollars for her safe return. Any information is to go straight to her parents, who can be reached at this address: . . . . .**

Christina went pale. Pale as the dead, like the article said. Her lips went red as strawberries as she bit them hard enough to draw blood, and she felt faint.

"Is this you?" David gripped her elbow to keep her upright as she looked like she was going to faint. "Felicity?"

"Don't call me that!" Christian hissed, wrenching her arm away from him. Her eyes were suddenly filled with hate. "I gave up that name a long time ago!"

"So you _are_ Felicity?" David demanded. "Why'd you run away from home? Who is Emily? Where did the blood come from?"

"I don't have to tell you anything," Christina said, but her eyes filled with worry. "Do the boys know?"

David shook his head, reluctant to change the conversation ever so slightly. "They don't sell the Journal, only I do." He glared at her. "You can't stay at the Lodging House anymore. If your parents find you, they'll punish Kloppman and the newsies for it, too."

"I'm not giving up!" Christina advanced on David, making him take a step back. "I am not giving up on the only home I've ever really had, just because of some stupid newspaper article!"

"Someone will give you away!" David insisted. "You think none of the newsies could use this kind of money? You think this money wouldn't feed Tumbler for the rest of his life, or buy Kid Blink an operation, or fix Crutchy's leg? They need the money, and if they don't turn you in, someone else will."

But Christina was smarter than that. She knew that the newsies would never turn her in. They were too attached to her already. She was as good as one of them. Better, even. She was like a sister to them, or a mother. They wouldn't turn her in. Jack still belonged in the refuge, as did nearly a dozen of the other newsies in that house. Half were runaways, loads more belonged in orphanages. They wouldn't turn her in.

Unless . . . No. Christina didn't want to finish that thought. She wasn't even sure where it was going, but she didn't want to finish it.

Everybody had their secrets. Now she just had two.

"I'm not leaving," Christina told David. "And none of the newsies will turn me in."

"Then I will," David decided. The decision brought sweat to his forehead, even in the face of Christina's icy glare. He watched her fingers twitch like they wanted to wrap around his throat, and the way they trembled like it was January. He saw blood in her mouth, and her teeth digging into the fresh cuts.

"I want explanations, or I go to the cops. I'll meet you behind the Lodging House at midnight. Remember to be there, or I go to the cops in the morning, Felicity." It wasn't like David to be so mean, but he didn't feel like he had a choice.

"I won't forget," Christina hissed.

**So? Whaddya think? I lurvs it, but that's just me. Read and Review!**

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine. It belongs to its respective owner. Including Newsies, sadly enough.**

**Chapter question: If you were an animal, what kind would you be?**

**Format: If I were an animal, I would be a/n . . . .**

**I'll give my answer next chapter.**

**Read and review, fansies, it makes me happy!**


	5. Spill it, Christina

**Answer to the previous chapter question: If I was an animal, I would be a hawk. Cuz I like hawks.**

**Thanks to Ealasaid Una for reviewing. David would do that because in my head I can see him doing that. And I love kiwis! They're so adorable and quietly spontaneous! Thanks to Guest for the same thing, and I know, David was being mean. Thanks also to To bE mY HEaRt and sorry, Christina doesn't punch David. I love Bluejay, too. **

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not, in fact, mine. Unless . . . no, just kidding. You recognize it, it isn't mine.**

Christina was furious. She didn't even have words for her fury. She locked herself in her room and screamed into her pillow. She kicked the wall, and threw things.

Then she looked at the little hand mirror on the dresser. And she brought her fist down on it, hard.

She didn't even bother to stop the bleeding. Her hand had been cut through the middle, deep, but she didn't even bother to stop the bleeding.

She broke down and cried.

Because she _wasn't_ Felicity. She _wasn't_ a rich girl. She _wasn't_ the daughter of a millionaire. She _wasn't_ who her parents had said she was. She wasn't, she wasn't, she wasn't.

So why did the world insist on treating her like that?

When she looked back on it, Christina wanted to blame Emily. But she couldn't. It wasn't Emily's fault. It was her fault, all her fault. It was Felicity's fault. Felicity Christina Moore's fault.

It was all her fault.

Christina picked up a piece of the shattered mirror, and looked into it. Staring back at her, she saw Felicity, the way she'd looked when she ran away. She remembered Milly drawing her bath, and her expression when Christina insisted on changing back into her pretty white dress afterwards. For a moment, she'd wanted to go back out there, and tell her parents and Mr. William King what she thought of them. But she hadn't. She'd caved.

And she'd sworn, when she became plain Christina, to leave Felicity behind. And she had.

Christina's fist clenched instinctively around the shard of mirror, biting deeper into her skin, but she didn't care. She felt like she had the world on her shoulders.

She had to get away. She had to escape. How? New York was only so big, and it wasn't _nearly_ good enough.

Christina's eyes flicked to the book on the tilted dresser, the one that had been holding it straight. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. On the cover, Alice's face was perfectly sculpted, inquisitive, curious, tantalizingly beautiful.

That's how Bluejay found her. Asleep on the floor, with blood in her hands and on the book in her lap. Shards of mirror surrounding her, and her eyes streaked with tears.

Bluejay had been looking for her, but he forgot why as soon as he saw the blood.

Without waking her up, he bookmarked _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, and ripped strips of cloth from the bottom of his shirt. He bandaged her hand, and cleaned up most of the blood.

He just sat there, for the longest time, holding her hand. She really did look like Alice. Long blonde hair, blue dress, ruby lips. Bluejay tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her skin was smooth and pale. The barest hint of freckles touched her cheeks.

When her eyes fluttered open, Bluejay was still there.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" He asked, helping her sit up, and picking shards of the mirror out from her lovely hair. "Or you wanna keep it to yourself?"

Christina threw her other arm around him. "Thanks, Bluejay," She murmured, planting a kiss on his cheek. "You're a real jerk sometimes, but thanks."

Bluejay tipped his hat. "Glad to be of service." He sat there awkwardly, until he realized he was still holding her hand. "Any reason you're covered in blood? Or don't you wanna talk about it?"

Christina didn't tell him everything. She told him virtually nothing, but Bluejay listened anyway. And when he left, Christina finally thought to ask him how he got it. The door had been locked.

Bluejay grinned. Christina was beginning to like his grins. "Kloppman's got a skeleton key under the counter." He winked, and vanished.

Christina didn't bother cleaning up the glass. She just swept it to the side. Then she got into bed, and fell asleep.

She woke up sometime in the night—it was dark out her window. A look at the watch she'd set on her bedside table told her it was eleven.

Fine. David wanted a rendezvous, he was gonna get a rendezvous.

Christina still couldn't get her corset on, so she settled for her new dress, and she carried Alice in Wonderland in her hand. She knew she should change the bandage on her hand, but she decided not to.

Christina was early, so she sat down on a crate behind the lodging house and opened the book.

"Why're you reading?" David asked when he appeared a few moments later. "You brought a book?"

"Books are made to be escaped into," Christina said. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Listen," David said uncomfortably. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be all mean. But, see, you have to understand—"

"Oh, I understand," Christina said, folding her arms across her chest. "I understand perfectly. And yet, I still resent the heck out of you."

David winced a bit, but admitted, "Fair enough. Now do you want to tell me everything?"

"No," Christina said. "But I have to tell you." She sighed. "Sit down, David, this is gonna take a while."

David sat down. Christina had never been very good at retelling the past, especially the painful past. And she didn't want David to be the one she told the past to. She didn't want to relive it for anyone, let alone David. But she had to. It was more than the blackmail now.

She took a deep breath, and started talking, afraid that if she didn't start now, she never would.

"My name _was_ Felicity Christina Moore, and I _was_ the daughter of a millionaire. I grew up in that mansion in Queens. And I hated it. Everyone was always telling me what to do, who to be. Like I was too stupid to put on my own clothes or read to myself." Chrisina's voice was bitter, and she spoke like she wasn't exactly sure how to go about it. She hadn't ever told anybody this.

And Christina began to lie: "Then Emily appeared. She was my best friend. She was a maid, but that was okay. I didn't care. We did everything together. We used to meet at night under the big willow tree behind the mansion, because in the dark the branches hid us from view. And my parents never knew. They would've fired her, and she needed the money.

"Then the engagement ball came around, and I was horrified. I'd fallen in love with someone else, but only Emily knew about it. It was rainy that afternoon that my mother told me about the ball, and I went and told Emily the first chance I could, and we cried together. That was the last time I saw her.

"Then the engagement ball was that evening, and my mother made me where this horrible dress. It was covered in lace and itchy cloth. It was horribly uncomfortable. I didn't want to wear it. I proposed other dressed of every color, but my mother wanted me in white. 'Like an angel' is what she said. And I told her I didn't believe in angels, and she was furious. My mother was always big on religion, too.

"And I was furious. My aunt and uncle had come out from Chicago for the ball, and all the big shots were there. I met Pulitzer! And then my grandfather from Russia was waiting for me, and he prattled on and on in Russian, and he wouldn't listen to me saying I couldn't understand him.

"Then I had to walk into the ballroom, and smile politely while Mr. William King took my hand and kissed it and sneered at me and complimented me. He was filthy rich, that was the only reason my parents had arranged the match. And he was evil as hell. He kept asking me what I liked to do, and how I couldn't do that when I was married, or how he would make sure that our children were well cared for, or that I would never need to step foot outside his mansion, I'd be safe and happy there.

"So I slapped him, finally, and my mother rushed over, and I told her I was in love with someone else. My father began to yell at me, and somehow the conversation got around to Emily. Next thing I knew, Emily was fired, and my mother had paid Emily's aunt to take her to Manhattan and keep her away from me.

"So I ran to my room, and I packed and I was gone. I practically shredded the dress, but I fixed it up so I could sell it later. My feet were bleeding from the shoes I'd been wearing, and then I stepped on glass in the kitchen and it only made it bleed more.

"And I still haven't found Emily."

To her horror, Christina found she'd started crying. She began sobbing, and she was furious at herself. Wiping away the tears, she lurched to her feet. "Are you happy?" Her voice sounded like someone else was using her mouth. "Or do I need to spill more of my secrets to satisfy your curiosity?"

"You can't stay here," David stood, and he was so much taller than Christina. "If your parents are big enough to invite Pulitzer to your engagement ball, then you can bet half the city's looking for you and that two hundred dollar prize. It's a game to them."

"I'm not a game!" Christina kicked a crate, not even bothering to wince at the pain. "I'm a person! I'm a girl!"

"Then _tell_ your parents that!" David seized her shoulders, though he had to nearly bend over to do it. "Tell them you can control your own life."

"My father once fired a maid because she suggested that he was late to a meeting," Christina glared at him. "My mother yelled at a kid in church because he was kicking his feet too much. My parents don't listen to anyone but themselves."

"You can't stay at the lodging house," David insisted. "You'll drag the newsies down with you."

"I won't give up my home," Christina stared him down angrily, and for a moment David was genuinely afraid. If looks could kill, he'd not only be dead, he'd be fried to a crisp. Even with tears streaming down her face, Christina was the most fearsome girl David had ever had the misfortune to meet. "I don't expect you to understand! You've got a mom and dad and brother and sister! They love you and you love them, and you're happy. You have a home to go to, a home that's yours, with a hot meal on the table and a dad angry at you for being out past curfew. Your little brother is happy as a lark because he's got a role model in Cowboy, and you can't bring yourself to tell him you don't want him hanging around. _I have none of that, David!_"

"You have the newsies," David argued, and he had the strangest sense of déjà vu.

"But you want me to leave them!" Christina shook her head. "I'm not leaving, and nothing you say can make me." She whirled, wiping the tears from her eyes, and began to march back into the lodging house.

"What about Tumbler?"

Christina froze.

"What happens to him if you get dragged away? Who'll teach him to read?"

"Racetrack can—"

"Racetrack's too drunk to be a teacher. And what about the boys who'll try to keep you away from your parents? The refuge or jail for them."

"You think I _want_ this? Being a criminal, hiding from my parents, running away every time someone looks at me the wrong way?" Christian whirled on him. "You don't know shit about me, David."

"Just think about it, Felicity," David shook his head. "You're secret's safe with me, but think about it."

Christina didn't wait to hear anything else. She ran. She ran for her room, pushing past boys and into her room. She didn't even bother to close the door, she just sobbed into her pillow.

She had lied. Again. She'd lied to David.

"I heard everything." Bluejay's voice came from the doorway. There were footsteps, and the sound of him sitting down next to her. "You forgot my window was open and you wasn't exactly talkin' quiet."

Christina sat up. "I'm not telling you anything." She said, trying to be furious, like she never could around Bluejay.

"That's okay," Bluejay shrugged. "I don't wanna know. Just that, if you need anything, it ain't that hard to ask."

Christina nodded. But it was hard. For a girl who didn't need anyone else, the hardest thing in the world was to ask for help. "Bluejay?" She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thanks. I don't understand you, but thanks."

**This chapter was a bit too short for my liking, but I think that's okay since there's so much drama and stuff in it.**

**Chapter question: Would you rather date a celebrity, or a Newsies character (name celebrity or character)?**

**Lurv all of you freakoid fansies!**

**READ AND REVIEW IT MAKES ME HAPPY**


	6. The Murder

**My answer to the previous chapter question: I would date a Newsies character, and it would be Spot Conlon. Definitely. Absolutely.**

**Thanks to Ealasaid Una for reviewing: I guess you'll just have to read and find out, won't you?**

**And thanks to Guest for the same: I love Jeremy Jordan, too, but I think if you date him it doesn't count as a Newsies character, does it?**

**I like this chapter, it takes a sudden twist.**

Christina should've been asleep. Instead, she was sitting on her bed, staring at her locket. It wasn't the same one that she'd offered Kloppman on her first day. It was a different one, one Emily had given her. Christina always wore it under her dress, every minute of every day, and she slept with the chain wrapped around her hand so she wouldn't lose it.

She was glad she had lied to David. It wasn't a complete lie, most of it was the truth. Christina only lied about the important things.

_Emily grinned. "I got you something." She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up, and the sunlight shining through the branches of the willow tree rippled over the surface of the locket, like the sun wanted to taste its beauty._

_It was brass, with a carving of a bird. In one side was a lock of Emily's bright red hair behind a clip, and a photograph of her on the other side._

_Christina smiled. "It's beautiful, Em."_

"_The shopkeeper said a bird is supposed to symbolize freedom," Em shrugged, as if it wasn't much, but her grin betrayed her. "And the photograph is supposed to symbolize me."_

_Christina hugged her. "I love it," She said, smoothing a lock of red-orange hair behind Emily's ear. "And I love you."_

Those were the good times. Before Felicity had turned fourteen, and her parents decided she was old enough for them to start looking for a husband. Sometimes, Christina mused, growing up sucked.

It had been nearly a month since she'd told David her story. The Bulls had come to the lodging house, searching for this orphan or that criminal, but never for her.

Christina was fitting in well with the newsies. Every Saturday, they all took their laundry down a few streets to where some laundresses cleaned them for a fee, and most Sundays they all blew off work, to go to church or just hang out.

Christina still felt, though, like something was missing. She wasn't sure why. She knew Emily was missing, but she'd been missing for a while.

It wasn't Emily. At least, not directly. Christina knew what it was. It was the keeping a secret. That was what was bothering her. It hadn't bothered her before, though, only once she lied to David. She'd always been good at lying, but she'd never liked it.

She had to tell them. The newsies, Jack, Bluejay, everyone. She just didn't know how, and she didn't want to know how they would react.

Christina slowly and firmly smacked _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ against her forehead. It all came down to that, didn't it? How _other_ people chose to see her. It made Christina sick to her stomach.

"_I know who you are," A man in a slick, clean suit said. He was sitting at a wooden table, smoking a cigarette, across from the girl in the simple brown dress. "You were arrested for trespassing, theft, and resisting arrest."_

"_So?" The girl folded her arms protectively over her chest. Why was this stranger here? What did he want?_

_The man leaned forward, and the girl looked into those strange eyes—one green, one blue. She didn't flinch. "I have a proposition for you, sweetheart." The man folded his hands on the table. "Have you ever heard of The Murder?"_

_The girl didn't even blink._

"_Let me put it this way. Have you ever heard of the Blue Raven?"_

_The girl's eyes widened._

"_Exactly. The Blue Raven, the leader of The Murder. He sent me, and he has a proposition for you."_

_The girl lurched to her feet, nearly knocking over the chair in her hurry to get out of the room. "I don't want anything the Blue Raven's offering!"_

"_But you don't even know what it is, sweetheart." The man stayed seated as the girl shook the doorknob. It was locked and bolted from the outside. The windows were barred, and the wall was a foot thick and made of stone. The chimney was the only way out, and it was too small._

_The girl whirled, and nearly shrieked. The man had been sitting at the table, and was now standing a foot in front of her._

"_You want to get out of here, Emily," The man smiled, and he had a gold tooth. "And the Blue Raven wants something you know how to get."_

_The terror in Emily's eyes was evident. But there was also hope. "You can get me out?"_

"_All you need to do is say please." And the man extended a hand._

"EMILY!" Christina screamed as she woke up.

She'd been wrong. It wasn't the keeping a secret that was bothering her. It _was_ Emily. She was in trouble. Emily needed her.

Bluejay was suddenly in the doorway. "Christina?" He murmured worriedly. "Are you alright? You was just having a nightmare, I think."

"Bluejay, I need to tell you something," Christina began to babble out her story in her hurry. "and I think Emily's in trouble," she finished. "I need to find her."

"What's her name?" Bluejay didn't even blink. Just like Emily in her dream.

"Emily Temple."

Bluejay nodded briskly. He seized her arm. "Come on. We need to tell the newsies."

Jack Kelly liked his sleep. He liked to yell his headlines, too, and eat till he was full and to beat up the Delancey brothers, but there was nothing he liked more than a few hours of very deep and peaceful sleep.

So, naturally, he didn't take kindly to being woken up at four in the morning on a Sunday. But he listened to Christina as Bluejay woke up the rest of the newsies.

When Christina was done with her story—although she'd still lied to Bluejay and she still lied to Jack—the leader of the Manhattan newsies was silent.

Finally, he spoke. "Why didn't you tell us this?"

Christina glared at him angrily. "My past is my business. I don't know yours and frankly, I don't care to."

"Yeah, but this is different," Jack stood up, and he was a head and a half taller than her. "This coulda gotten _all_ the newsies in trouble. This involves all of us."

"That's why I'm telling you now," Christina held her ground. "You can go back to sleep like nothing's happening, or you can get up and help."

Jack ran his hand through his hair, and sighed. "Tumbler," He looked at the little boy who was already at his feet and wide awake. "Go to Davey's an' bring 'im ovah." The boy nodded and disappeared out the door.

"Boots, run to Brooklyn. Get Spot, an' I don't care if he's sleeping like a baby, you wake 'im up an' bring 'im here."

"What if he bites me?"

"Bite back. Now get movin'!"

Boots' head gave a single bob, and was off along with the rest of his body. "Skitts, you go wid 'im," Jack added after a moment. The older boy nodded and hurried after Boots-

"Spot Conlon?" Bluejay crossed his arms. "What's Spot Conlon got to do with Christina?"

"'Cause The Murder's headquarters are in Brooklyn." Jack turned to address the newsies, who were falling into place and listening attentively. Voices started to mumble when they heard the name of the Blue Raven's gang. "Listen up, boys. Christina's got a confession."

All eyes swiveled and turned to the short girl in her nightgown, who gulped.

"My real name isn't Christina. It's Felicity Christina Moore." Voices started up. "Please, don't speak until I'm done. I don't know if I can keep going if I'm stopped." The voices faded.

"I grew up in Queens, in a mansion, with servants and nurses and a governess and a maid. But my only friend was Emily. She was a maid, and my best friend." Nobody noticed the lie. "Then my parents got me engaged to William King. There was supposed to be a huge ball to celebrate it. The last time I saw Emily was when I told her. During the ball, I got into an argument with my parents, and I ran away. Emily was sent away.

"Just now, I had a dream that Emily was in trouble. She's locked up somewhere, and she needs help. There's this man—"

"If it was a dream, how dyou know it's real?" Snitch's voice was the first of many. Everyone wanted to know why Christina had woken them up for a dream.

Christina felt like someone had hit her with a brick. How couldn't they believe her? Emily was in trouble! She had to help her!

"I believe her." Everyone shut up and stared at Bluejay. He rarely ever spoke to anyone nowadays except Christina, and that he was risking his reputation to support a girl was more than shocking to the newsies. Bluejay turned to Christina. "Where was Emily in this dream?"

Christina pulled herself together. "She was in a room with a wooden table and two chairs. The floor was wood and the walls were stone. The windows were barred, and the door was locked. There was a fireplace and a chimney, but the chimney was really small. And there was only one lightbulb."

Jack froze. Other boys smacked their foreheads and started muttering.

"What?" Christina demanded.

"That's the refuge interview room." Bluejay told her. "In the refuge, when someone wants to talk with one o' the kids, that's where they take 'em. It's inescapable. Christina," He took her firmly by the shoulders. "What did the man look like?"

"He was tall with one blue eye and one green eye, and he had a gold tooth." Christina rattled off. "And he kept talking about The Murder and this Blue Raven."

"Sounds like Crow ta me." Eyes turned to the doorway, where Spot Conlon was flanked by his second in command and another newsie. "This bettah be good, Kelly. I hate anyone who gets up b'foah dawn."

"Tell 'im, Christina," Bluejay said as Jack pulled out a cigarette.

Christina explained everything.

Spot Conlon stared at Christina. "'Hattan's nuts," He decided. "All o' you get up at foah in mo'nin' ta listen to some dumbass rich girl tell you her friend's in trouble because she had a fuckin' _dream_? Are you'se all insane?"

All the newsies began to talk at once, but Christina stepped around them. Who was this stupid boy? He wasn't even an _inch_ taller than her, but he thought he could come into this lodging house and say what he liked, as if she didn't matter? As if _Emily _didn't matter?

"Who the hell are you?" Christina demanded.

Conlon smirked. "Spot Conlon, King o' Brooklyn."

"Well, _Your Majesty_," Christina drawled. "I, for one, don't recognize your authority. So stop walking around like everyone should fall to their knees as you walk by."

"Pay up," Blink murmured, and there was the sound of coins exchanging hands.

"Can you help me find Emily or not, Conlon?" Christina put her hands on her hips.

"How 'bout _no_, Rich Girl?" Conlon smirked. "Then what would you do?"

"Tear up the city until I find Emily," Christina's eyes were sparking. She could swear she felt knives shooting out of them and into Spot. "And let me guess, _Your Majesty_, that this Blue Raven has been a bit of trouble for you? Wouldn't you _love_ to get rid of him?"

"She's got a point, Conlon," Bluejay stepped up next to Christina. "The Murder ain't exactly the best o' friends with the newsies."

Conlon spat in his hand, and offered it to Christina. "You stay outta my way, an we get rid o' da Moidah. Deal?"

Christina's insides began to ooze disgust, but she spat in her hand and shook the King of Brooklyn's. Something inside her shivered, and as she made the deal, another piece of her heart reappeared.

"I ain't never seen Conlon so complacent," Bluejay murmured.

"Ain't never is a double negative," Christina pointed out, smiling.

**At The Murder's headquarters in Brooklyn**

"Here she is, boss," Crow emerged from the shadows, one arm around Emily's shoulders.

"How are you settling in, Emily?" A voice from the other side of the room spoke. It was a boy maybe seventeen years old. The Blue Raven "Is your room comfortable?"

"I want to know why I'm here," Emily said. "You got me out of the refuge and I'm thankful for that, but Crow said you wanted something in return."

The boy smiled, and the Blue Raven had a gold tooth. He leaned forward dramtically. "You want to know what I want?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, please."

"Felicity Christina Moore."

**Chapter question: Would you rather be abducted by aliens or get caught sneaking into an alien spacecraft. Why?**

**READ AND REVIW IT MAKES ME HAPPY!**


	7. Serpent

**My answer to the previous chapter question: I would rather be abducted by aliens, because it seems cooler.**

**Thanks to To bE mY HEaRt, Bluejay says hi and he would date you, too. You know, if he were real.**

_She was carrying the black cat. Her father didn't like cats, and he didn't like the black cat especially. He thought black cats were bad luck, because Polly liked to hide in the shadows and jump out at the little fluffy dog that belonged to Felicity's mother._

"_What do you mean, The Murder's jeopardizing shipping?" Her father screamed into the telephone. "I don't care about this Blue Raven, you get that cargo shipped out _today_!"_

"_Father?" Felicity spoke up. "I think Polly's sick."_

"_I don't care, Samson, I just want that cargo shipped out. I don't care what it takes," Her father ignored her. "Take a hatchet to that Blue Raven's head, but I want this taken care of. Do I make myself clear?" There came some muffled babbling at the other end._

"_Father—"_

"_I'm busy, Felicity," Her father turned away. "Go find your mother. What do you mean, there's no evidence? You just told me that all our containers were sabotaged! No, I don't care! That counts as evidence! But there's no damage? Then the containers weren't sabotaged, you idiot!"_

_Felicity was smarter than most eight-year-olds. She knew exactly where to go. She went to her father's library, and set Polly down on a chair. At the end of the library, her father's files were kept on a series of dark brown shelves._

_Felicity looked under T. She figured that 'The Murder' would be filed under T. She was wrong. So she searched under M. Nothing. Then she remembered something else her father had mentioned. The Blue Raven._

_Felicity looked back under T. Nothing about a raven. So she looked under B. Nothing. Felicity kicked the cabinet, making Polly jump in fright. She hissed at Felicity, who hissed back._

"_Whatcha doin'?" Emily's voice came from behind Felicity. The wall had opened up, and Emily sat in the entrance to the hidden room behind it. "You look upset."_

"_I heard my father talking on the telephone," Felicity plopped down next to her friend. "He was yelling at some man called Samson because this gang called The Murder was jeopardizing shipping. I'm trying to look it up, but I can't find anything."_

_Emily frowned. "You looked under M _and_ T?"_

_Felicity nodded. "Nothing."_

"_So whatcha gonna do, Fee?" Emily peered at her friend. "Did your dad mention anything else?"_

"_He said something about this Blue Raven," Felicity grumbled. "But I already looked under B for Blue, and there's nothing about a raven there."_

"_Didja look under R?" Emily cocked her head thoughtfully. "Grown-ups are weird. Maybe they got mixed up and put it in backwards?"_

"_Maybe," Felicity admitted thoughtfully. She stood on her tippy-toes to look into the drawer labeled R. "Here!" She triumphantly drew a file from the cabinet and closed the drawer again._

_Footsteps echoed outside the library door. "The hiding place!" Emily hissed, snatching up Polly. "Go!"_

_Through a hidden door they went, up a ladder and into a secret room they'd discovered some time back while searching for Polly. The girls had made it their hiding place, and smuggled up there a kerosene lamp and a few matches. It was the perfect place for the reading of secret files._

"_Go on, open it," Emily urged once Felicity had locked the door. "What's it say?"_

"_I'm going, I'm going," Felicity grumbled, but she wasn't really cross. She was just as excited as Emily was._

_They went through the files twice, and by the time they were done Felicity had missed both her sewing lesson and her religion tutor. Emily, who had snuck away from cleaning pots in the kitchen, now had thrice as much work to do and four rooms to sweep clean. But the girls still didn't understand half of the files. They promised themselves they would look up the hard words like _rape_ or _sabotage_._

_There weren't that many papers in the folder, anyway, Felicity grumbled later. It was a waste of time for just two reports._

_What the girls didn't know, as eight-year-olds, was that those two reports were chock-full of information. Of course, you couldn't blame them for it, they were only children, after all. How were they to know that if The Murder discovered Felicity's father knew so much about them he'd slaughter them all?_

_**Gang, commonly known as The Murder (i.e. the name of a group of crows), led by an individual known as the Blue Raven. Crimes include rape, murder, trespassing, theft, sabotage, vandalism and felony.**_

_**January 3**__**rd**__**, 1890; Priscilla Miller, 8, and her sister, Esmeralda Miller, 13, missing. Priscilla found, testified to rape and to rape and murder of sister. Murder claimed credit openly. Perpetrators never found.**_

_**September 20**__**th**__**, 1891; $75 worth of food, seven pistols and 35 bullets stolen from general store in Bowery. One boy caught, wore blue—color of the Blue Raven. Convicted, sent to city refuge.**_

_**October 1**__**st**__**, 1891; six women, four children held hostage in tenement in Queens by drunken youths. Five dead total—strangled, fallen out window (four floors), blood loss. Six boys, one girl arrested. Girl later released for lack of evidence, boys convicted. Three sent to work farms, three to docks, one to refuge.**_

_**December 24**__**th**__**, 1891; Joseph Pulitzer called to report break-in. Nothing stolen. Graffiti on walls of courtyard and door. The Murder claimed credit. Perpetrators never found.**_

_**January 1**__**st**__**, 1892; Unnamed child in Brooklyn, reported missing. Body never recovered, the Murder claimed credit.**_

_**January 2**__**nd**__**,1892; Bank robbery, the Murder claimed credit. The Blue Raven arrested, liberated shortly after arrest. Doors locked from inside.**_

_**January 4**__**th**__**, 1982; Empty warehouse in Manhattan set on fire, four Murder boys arrested, committed suicide on the spot.**_

_**January 10**__**th**__**, 1982; David Keller, 15, Samuel Emmerson, 17, Felix Jenkins, 15, and Oliver Pines, 16, reported missing. Bodies never found. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**January 16**__**th**__**, 1982; Elizabeth Dale, 17, and Margery "Molly" Webster, 18, reported missing. Bodies never found. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**January 20**__**th**__**, 1982; Irene Bearing, 15, reported missing. Body never found. Murder boy delivered locket to parents, vanished before police could arrive. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**January 28**__**th**__**, 1982; Julie Evans, 16, reported missing. Body never found. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**February 9**__**th**__**, 1982; John York, 19, reported missing. Body never found. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**February 12**__**th**__**, 1982; Joseph Marks, 17, reported missing. Two days later, burned body found in East River. Face burned beyond recognition. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_**February 20**__**th**__**, 1982; Yvonne O'Malley, 13, reported missing. Body never found. The Murder claimed credit.**_

_The records continued on and on. As the words "recognition," "rape," "perpetrators," "hostage," "liberated," or "committed," weren't included in her English lessons, Felicity could not decipher half of the reports. In this case, ignorance was bliss, as Felicity's parents wanted to raise their daughter unaware of such vulgarity as crime._

_When the girls failed to decipher the file, they separated—Emily to her work and Felicity to dejectedly return the file before scurrying away to her ballroom dancing lesson._

**At The Murder's headquarters in Brooklyn**

"What do you want with Christina Felicity Moore?" Emily crossed her arms across her chest. "She's a snotty rich girl." She said it so convincingly she almost believed it herself.

The Blue Raven, however, did not believe her. The Blue Raven was tall, with a head of silkily soft hair so black that it was almost blue—that's where he'd gotten his name. That, and the tattoo on the inside of his wrist of a raven. He held himself like he was the most important person in the world, but he dressed simply; he wore a loose beige shirt and a pair of brown slacks. Two hook swords, taken as payment from an immigrant who hadn't known how to use them, were attached to his belt. They were worn from use, like he knew how to use them.

And he did.

"The reward, of course," The Blue Raven inspected his hands. They were long and fair, like a girl's, as thought they'd never seen a hard day's work. They were pickpocket hands, though God only knows how a boy so imperious was able to pick pockets. "Two hundred dollars is nothing to sneeze at, Emily."

"You're plenty rich," Emily retorted. "I see you in the news all the time. Murders, disappearances, thefts, ransoms. You're rolling in money."

"Not so," The Blue Raven said mildly. "We pay taxes, same as you." He ignored Emily's snort. "Plus fines, bribes, etcetera. We're far from rich."

"Well, you're not getting anything out of me," Emily said stoically. She was foolish enough to make a fatal mistake. Her stoic remark led the Blue Raven to believe that she knew something, which is always a mistake.

"Suit yourself," The Blue Raven shrugged. "I'll get it one way or another." To Crow he said, "Take her to the basement, to the cell on the end. I want a guard round the clock. One of each gender, in case she tries anything."

"One of each gender," Emily grumbled as Crow led her away. "In case she tries anything, my ass. I couldn't charm a boy out of an infection if my life depended on it."

"Oh, boys aren't the problem," The Blue Raven drawled after them.

**Several miles away, at Brooklyn newsie headquarters**

"What do we know about The Murder?" Christina asked, shaking the dust off her skirt. She stood around a table laden with papers of every kind. The room was rather large, considering it only held a table, but Spot had a fondness for grandeur, and it was he who had picked the newsies' headquarters. At least the size of the room meant that there was plenty of room for all the people.

There were six people in the room. Spot Conlon, who looked completely at home in what he liked to call his "war room." His second in command, who had been introduced to Christina as Snapdragon, was a boy with scruffy blond hair who never moved from his position beside Spot. Jack Kelly stood next to David, the Walking Mouth, both of whom looked slightly uneasy at being in the heart of Brooklyn territory. Bluejay stood next to Christina, mysterious as always.

There was a new face, which Spot identified as Karma, his spymaster. A lanky boy with light brown hair and freckles stood opposite Christina, granting him a generous view of her chest as she leaned over the maps. He enjoyed the view immensely, as Christina had a very nice pair of—

"We know that the Murder's been responsible for tens, if not hundreds, of disappearances," Kraken said. As no one looked up from the papers, he was able to keep his eyes on Christina's ample—

"What kind of disappearances?" Christina looked up, and Serpent quickly averted his eyes, choosing instead to meet hers.

"Boys and girls both, mostly in their teens," Serpent said steadily. "Only one body was ever found. However, their first kidnapping was of two girls and one of the girls was released and reported the rape and murder of her older sister."

Christina nodded. "I read about that. My uncle lives in New Jersey; he's obsessed with crime. He keeps files on anything and everything he can find out, and I once read about the Murder." The lie was smooth, undetectable. She was a better liar than Emily was. "It only went up until 1892, though."

"There've been 'undreds since," Spot shrugged. "Not even any patte'n. Rich, poor, in between, anythin'. Nuthin' bout races eidah, or anyfin like dat."

"Oh great," David said sarcastically. "We have a group of kidnappers loose on the city."

"They've been loose since forevah, dumbass," Jack smacked him upside the head.

"Then let's go to the police," David suggested, as though this was actually feasible.

"It's been years, David," Christina glared at him. "No progress in seven years, so why should there be any now?"

"What's Emily like?" Serpent asked, searching Christina's eyes. "Is there any one thing that can define her? Anything that sets her apart?"

Christina shook her head. _More lies_, she thought ruefully, then pushed that aside. "Nothing I can think of."

"Well, how d'you know they're centered in Brooklyn?" David asked Spot.

"A little boidy," Spot drawled. "Ya want me ta call 'em in? They'd love some fresh meat."

"There's something we're missing," Christina insisted before the two loudmouths could go at each other. "Something that's right under our noses."

"What kind of something?" Snapdragon asked as everyone's eyes went to the papers on the table, though they'd been over them a hundred times already.

Christina considered a few ideas. "The people who were kidnapped. Where they going out with anybody? What about their close friends? Were they interviewed?"

"Most of them were single," Snapdragon looked at the papers. "One girl was engaged to be married. Two boys were dating girls they saw often. Usually they were kidnapped in pairs or groups. Their families said they were friends."

Christina crossed her arms, making her small breasts seem larger, and ensuring Serpent's eyes didn't move from their position. "What about school situations? How many went to public schools? Could the Murder have gotten to them that way?"

"Half of 'em didn't go to school," Jack said, looking through the papers. "Uddah's went ta private schools. On'y a few went to public schools."

Christina shut her eyes tight, trying to think. To her credit, she thought of a few choice things that might be useful, none of which were appropriate to voice at this meeting.

"I've got nothing," she admitted finally. "Anyone else?"

No one said anything as they all looked at each other. Serpent noticed that Christina's hand went to the locket nestled nicely between her breasts underneath her dress.

The meeting was adjourned after agreeing—several times—that if they could find out why the people were taken, they might have a chance at finding their hiding places.

Serpent volunteered to take Christina back to the 'Hattan lodging house, since David had to head to school in an hour (they had come straight from an early-morning meeting to Brooklyn) and Jack had to go selling. Bluejay agreed that Christina should go back to 'Hattan, as he was going to visit his friend in Queens to see what he knew. Christina objected, saying she wanted to stay and look through the papers more. In response, Snapdragon handed her a bag that held a copy of every paper they had on the Murder, and urged her not to lose it.

"Go home," He advised firmly. "S'gonna be a long day, I promise you that, and you might as well get a few hours of sleep while you can."

Christina gave a long sigh that was so deep she felt like she was exhaling her insides. "Fine," She conceded, though she disliked giving in. "I'll go home."

Snapdragon smiled. "Sleep," He counseled as she turned to go. "And don't hurt yourself trying to search for a result."

For most of the walk, Serpent and Christina were silent. It was still nearly pitch black outside, except for a bit of gray on the horizon, and the streets didn't feel safe enough to walk in, let alone advertise your presence in.

Finally, though Serpent asked Christina, "That locket, the one around your neck? It's very nice. Did Emily give it to you?"

Christina nodded. "A while back."

"It seems more like a lover's token than a sign of friendship," Serpent smiled.

Christina shrugged. _More lies_. "She got it from an old friend who'd been given it by her boyfriend. When they broke up she glued it shut and gave it to Emily. She gave it to me for my birthday."

Serpent nodded. "Can I see it?"

Christina reached up to take it, but Serpent got there first. His long fingers dipped between her breasts and when they touched her skin both of them shivered. Christina's eyes turned cold and hard. He withdrew the locket and looked at it.

"It's very nice workmanship," Serpent said. "That girl's boyfriend must've saved up money for a while. The girl was stupid to give it away instead of selling it."

"She's not the brightest of sorts," Christina shrugged. Her eyes were still cold. At least, she mused, she could already see the lodging house up ahead.

When Serpent put the locket back, he didn't let it drop like most people would have. Instead his hand dipped down the way he'd withdrawn the locket, and set it down gently.

This time, Christina slapped his hand away. "What are you playing at?" She growled.

"You're not like most girls," Serpent said thoughtfully. "Most skirts are afraid of their own shadows. If I'd touched any other skirt like that, she's run screaming for the police."

"I'm not most girls," Christina hissed. "I solve my own problems, not go to the police."

Serpent shrugged, and leaned in. "What kinds of problems?"

"None of your business," Christina said, but her voice got softer and softer. She didn't, however, pull away, and Serpent's hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. "What are you doing?"

"Relax," Serpent whispered, and kissed her.

As far as kisses go, Christina mused later, it was a good one. He was a good kisser and she kissed him back, just to see what it was like to kiss a boy like Serpent. Their mouths moved together perfectly, like they were meant to connect that way, and when his tongue poked through her lips, she let it. And when his hand wrapped itself in her hand as he kissed her, she let him. So lost was she in the kissing, that she didn't notice at first when his hand began to creep south.

She pulled away, looking at him like she wasn't sure what she'd see.

"What's wrong?" He asked, like they hadn't just met for the first time a few hours ago.

"I don't know you," She stammered. "I—I just met you, I—" She shut up when she realized she was lying again. Only this time, she was lying to herself.

She remembered a boy, years and years ago, so many years ago that she couldn't remember the exact shape of his face. She remembered a smile, and eyes that followed her everywhere, and a laugh that filled the room.

She kissed him, this time. This kiss was better than the last, and Christina felt like it could go on forever.

Later, in bed, Christina remembered the kisses, and she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't stopped him from untying the laces of her dress. And she thought about Emily, too, about what she would think, and she cried herself to sleep.

**This is the longest chapter I've written in a while, and I'm quite proud of myself in that I bothered to return to this story at all. I plan to finish it completely so I can work on other stuff.**

**Question: Who do you think Christina should end up with?**

**As always, answer the question in a review or, if you're like me and can't stand mysteries, PM me and we'll chat about the fate of the characters.**

**LOVE YOU ALL TO DEATH AND I SHALL FOREVER BE PROUD OF MY FELLOW FANSIES FOR THEIR INCREDIBLE FANDOM!**

**Review, please, as they are great incentive for writing. Love you all!**


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